Annúminas
by Soledad
Summary: Triple warning: This is an AU, a MPREG story and not for people who are Aragorn or Gandalffans. Rating is for a few gruesome details of surgery as well as for nonexplicit mm interaction. It's your choice to read it or leave it. Finished.
1. Chapter 1: The Kingdom Needs Heirs

**ANNÚMINAS**

**by Soledad**

Disclaimer: The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. 

Rating: G to R in different chapters, for violence, angst and m/m interaction. Nothing too graphic, though. 

Warnings: This is a male pregnancy-story. If that grosses you out, do us both the favour and go away. There are many other wonderful stories for you to read.

And a special plea to grammar pedantists: Dear people, as you probably know, I'm not a native speaker, So, if you truly are that much offended by my spelling, regardless of how many times I tried to eradicate the stubborn typos, there are only two sensitive things you can do about it: a) offering to proof-read, and b) hitting the Back button. Hm?

Summary: Not so long ago, I started an AU, based on my own Boromir-series, ''Fall Before Temptation'', with the significant difference that this time Boromir does not die, but gets the girl instead – well, sort of. In exchange, many of the other canon characters had to bite the dust, and the fate of Middle-earth became a very different one - though Sauron still has been defeated. 

This is a stand-alone story – an AU inside an AU, if you want – which I have written because I simply could not resist the topic. So many fics are out there, in which beautiful, androgynous Elves – presumably Legolas – get pregnant and behave like crazed women. I wanted to do something different. Didn't want to ruin the original story, though, so I wrote it independently.

Still, it might help if you read my AU story, ''Seal On My Heart''. However, that story has not reached its end yet, so if you don't want to read the events out of order, you'll have to wait a few Ages until ''Seal On My Heart'' is finished. I can't offer you a deadline for that, sadly.

Dedication: to Altariel, who wanted a humour fic to my AU. I cannot promise that it will be very humorous, though. 

And now, on we go!

CHAPTER 1: THE KINGDOM NEED HEIRS 

**Rating:** PG-13

**Author's notes:**

This story is a sequel to my AU, ''Seal On My Heart''. It starts roughly a year after the Ring War. Sauron is overthrown, Arnor and Gondor are reunited – but a little differently than the good Professor Tolkien had imagined.

**[The 22nd day of _Gwirith_(1), in the year 3020 of the Third Age]**

As he stood and looked at the magnificent walls and towers of the recently re-built Annúminas, the _Sunset Tower_, rising sheer above the quiet murmur of the light evening breeze on the smooth surface of Lake Nenuial(2), Aranel(3), High King of Arnor and Gondor, saw the very fabric of over three thousand years of history.

For these stones and stairwells, corridors and ramparts had been witnesses of the lives of the powerful and dispossessed, the rich and poor of generation after generation. Here it was that Kings had been made. And broken.

Annúminas, the _Tower of the West_, had been built by Elendil himself on the shore of Nenuial as the first capital of Arnor, and served as such for several hundred years til it had been deserted because of the decline of Arnor, and the court removed to Fornost.

A whole Age had passed since the City of Elendil had been raised first, with its strong walls and great, white towers, a dream of power and beauty, as it was custom among the Lords of Westernesse, who always built for eternity. The Men who had once built it, were long gone, yet the walls, carved into the living rock of the mountains, remained, and as the High King walked around on the ramparts of his newly-rebuilt fortress, it seemed him easy to imagine it still echoing with their presence. Every step he took now, they had taken themselves.

It helped a lot, of course, that the newly-built city looked very much the same as it had nearly three thousand years ago. The High King made sure it would. He still could remember the old city, after all. Though fairly young for his own noble kin, he had already been here. Several times, in fact.

At the time of his first visit, the city had hardly been two hundred years old. He remembered the great halls of the royal palace, with its beautiful murals and woven cloths, the high, narrow windows with their pictures made of stained glass, the marble-paved floors and the silver-and-golden _mellyrn_ murmuring in the Queen's garden.

But more than anything he remembered the smooth, shimmering dark surface of the chief _palantír_ of the North, resting on a low, round table of black marble in a central depression, so that it could at need be revolved by hand. Hardly more than a young child back then, who sneaked into the secret Chamber of Sight in his father's wake unnoticed, the Seeing Stone seemed huge and intimidating to him(4).

One of the greatest – and most pleasant – surprises during the reconstruction of Elendil's city upon its old foundations had been the discovery of the Seeing Stone in one of the deep pits, where it must have rested forgotten and undisturbed for over two thousand years. Now it had been returned to its original place, under the great, silver-covered dome of the royal palace, where only the Kings and their counsellors had entry, and properly seated again. It had a new warden, one of the Elven folk, who could use it and care for it properly, and prepare it for the Kings' use by need.

So many years had passed since the foundation of the first city! Kingdoms, were born and divided and reunited and overthrown, royal Houses of Elves and Men were founded and had perished, Dark Lords rose and were defeated… Who would have thought that – after two Ages – kingship would return to the elder line, and that his own Final Choice, made of love only, would raise the twin kingdoms of Men once again?

Certainly these kingdoms were quite different from the old ones. Arnor and Gondor now both had their own Kings, as in Elendil's times, who ruled as vice-regents of the High King himself; but final decision and the ultimate power lay in his hands alone. For he was the only one of true royal blood; the one with the rightful claim for High Kingship – the only now-mortal Lord directly related to Tar-Minyatur(5), first King of Númenórë.

He shivered in the cool night breeze and wound his richly-embroidered, heavy velvet robe tighter around himself. Things had been changing so fast, and he still was a little unused to such swift changes. Living as a mortal proved a noble challenge, indeed.

He felt the approach of his seneschal ere he could have heard the light Elven footsteps. Having become mortal changed little of his skills, at least... and his foster brother had been around him since his birth. Long enough even for Elves to grow close.

"What is it, Erestor?" he asked tiredly.

"'Tis late, my Lord," the Elf bowed slightly, "and I do believe that your spouse would require your presence. Tomorrow is a difficult day for both of you – he would need reassurance."

The High King raised an elegant eyebrow. Just like his forefather Dior, from whom he borrowed the name he chose for ruling, he was very beautiful, for the blood of three races (the Edain, Eldar and Maiar) flowed in his veins, and this small gesture made him look even more impossibly young.

"He said naught when I left."

"And in his stubborn pride he never would," Erestor smiled; his Lord's youthful beauty, that served the High King so well when dealing with mortal subjects or allies, had little to no effect on him, of course. "Yet trust me as one who had spent the last twelve centuries in the bond of matrimony when I say that he needs you. These will be trying times for him; for his pride even more so than for his body."

High King Aranel sighed. His seneschal, chief counsellor and ever-faithful foster brother was right, and he knew that. His beloved spouse, the vice-regent of Arnor had agreed to endure unnumbered indignities for the good of their kingdom and deserved all the support he could give him.''

"I know I am being selfish," he admitted ruefully, "but I truly needed a moment of solitude. Things are changing so fast, Erestor, I can hardly cope!"

"The more reason to go to him," Erestor insisted. "He knows more about being mortal than the rest of us together. He was _born_ that way, after all!"

"_And_ he was born with his volatile temper as well," the King added with a small sigh. "I cannot imagine how much worse it shall become once the mood swings would come…"

"Oh, but I think I can," Erestor laughed. "I only need to imagine ten times worse than when I enter your rooms unannounced. Fortunately, as an Elf I still am nimble enough to avoid all the heavy objects thrown at my head."

They both laughed with the easy familiarity of years unnumbered spent in each other's company (including even short seasons of intimacy during their youth long gone), and guided theirs steps towards the palace, for indeed, the High King had wandered off rather far, almost 'til the gatehouse, and they needed to walk around half the fortress to reach the royal wing.

"What about you?" the High King asked. "Is Lindir still nagging you to allow him taking the risk?"

"He is," Erestor nodded, sobering swiftly, "and when I imagine him swelling with our child, there are times I almost become weak enough to let him… But he is so fragile, both in body and in his gentle heart, I could not bear to endanger him like that."

"Do you believe I bear it easily?" the High King replied bitterly. "That I would risk this if we would not need heirs of our own flesh and blood?"

"I know you would not," sighed Erestor, "but King Aratan(6) is, at least, a strong Man… a seasoned warrior, used to many kinds of hardness."

"Yet he, too, still _is_ a male," the High King interrupted, "and male bodies are not meant for such thing. How I wish the foolish laws of Númenórë would not demand _me_ to be the father! Even as a mortal, _my_ body would adapt more easily."

"That is true," Erestor agreed, "for regardless of your Final Choice, you still _are_ an enhanced being. But what we cannot change, we cannot change. Fortunately, both your father and your sister are due to arrive tomorrow. Between them and the _heren istarion(7)_, we can hope that everything will go well."

"I _do_ hope it will," Aranel sighed. "'Tis bad enough that he had to leave his beloved city because of the narrow-mindedness of his own people and to come and dwell with me here in the far North – now I have to risk his life, too, just to satisfy the needs of those very people for a dynasty."

"He knows the risks," Erestor offered mildly, "just as Lindir does. And just as Lindir, he wants to do this. Not only for the peoples of the two kingdoms… but for he loves you and wants you happy."

"I _am_ happy!" the High King let out a frustrated growl. "I would be happy if he still were the Heir of the Steward of Gondor and I his consort… and I fear that he, too, would be more happy like that."

"That I do not believe," reaching the royal palace, Erestor stepped aside to let his Lord enter first. "No matter how cautious you were, one day people would have noticed that there was more between the two of you than friendship alone. He would have become an outcast, and that would have broken his heart. You are better off here, in the North, where the Dúnedain had been close enough to us all the time to understand the different kinds of true love."

"I know," said Aranel sadly; "still I wish I could love him without taking him away from his home."

Erestor stopped in the middle of the corridor and gave him a very serious look.

"My Lord, if I have learnt aught from the admittedly not always easy years of my marriage, then this: home is wherever the one dwells whom our heart loves. 'Tis true for Elves as well as for Men, I believe. Your spouse needs not a place – he needs a _person_. He needs _you_. This is the only thing you can – and should – give him: your love. Aught else can be solved as you go."

The High King smiled at him, his mood lightening a little.

"You are a wise Elf, Erestor. I am grateful that I could persuade you to remain on these shores a little longer and support us in bearing the burdens of kingship."

"I am an Elf," Erestor replied simply, "I have time. The Sea can wait a little longer. And I am not weary of Middle-earth yet, either. There still is so much to see, so much to learn. And now that so many of our folk are leaving these shores, I am less needed in your father's court than I used to be."

He stopped at the entrance of the royal wing and bowed slightly, like a young tree in a light wind.

"Have a peaceful night, my Lord. Day shall come again, and then the clouds would look less dark then, I hope."

TBC

  


* * *

(1) April. Following the Steward's reckoning as used in Gondor, I use the Sindarin names of the months (30days each), originally used only by the Dúnedain.

(2) Also called Lake Evendim. Lay in Eriador, near the south-eastern slopes of Emyn Uial.

(3) Means ''royal star'' or ''royal Elf'' in Sindarin, according to Robert Foster. Was one of Dior's surnames.

(4) In ''The Unfinished Tales'' Tolkien ponders over the measure of the _palantíri_ and says that the Stone of Annúminas might have been a small one, like that of Orthanc or Minas Tirith, while Amon Súl should have had a large one. I dare to disagree with the Great Maker in this. Annúminas was the capital of the whole empire – the Stone of the High King could not have been a lesser one than that of Osgiliath.

(5) Who was, of course, no-else than Elrond's brother, Elros.

(6) Means ''royal Man'' in Sindarin. Isildur's second son wore this name.

(7) Plural form for Istari, or wizards.


	2. Chapter 2: Taking the Risk

ANNÚMINAS  
by Soledad 

Disclaimer: see in the Introduction 

Rating: R, for some drastic images concerning surgery and other stuff. 

Author's notes:  
You did not think that getting a male spouse pregnant would be as easy as it goes with a woman, did you? Well, then you are wrong. Obviously.  


2. TAKING THE RISK 

[The 23rd day of Gwirith, in the year 3020 of the Third Age] 

Having the Lord Elrond and his escort safely placed in the guest wing, Erestor, seneschal of Annúminas began with the preparations for the following day's big issue. Master Aiwendil had given very specific instructions of what needed to be done, and Lady Alatar, the only female among the heren istarion needed very specific instruments and rare herbs to make this perilous task work. 

She had been living in Annúminas for several seasons by now (Erestor still could not bring himself to think of counting the time according the Steward's Reconing that had been adopted for the new, united realm), working her strong earth-magic on King Aratan's body, forcing it to changes that were never meant to happen to a male body, in order to make it able to conceive and bear a child. 

The changes, though not yet visible in the outside, must have been rather unpleasant, mayhap even painful, and Erestor developed a certain amount of compassion towards the admittedly short-tempered King of Arnor, who already endured more indignities for this noble goal than most other Men ever would. 

The seneschal made a mental check on all the preparations that had to be done, then nodded in satisfaction and continued towards the royal bedchambers where the actual fertilization was going to find place; for regardless of the outcome, it was a dangerous process, and King Aratan was not alloved to be moved afterwards. 

The High King was already there when Erestor arrived, speaking qiuetly with his father and sister. He had discarded his kingly robes in favor of the simple, silvery-green tunic and leggings he used to wear during all his hundreds of years as an Orc-hunter in the Wild. His narrow face, framed by the unbraided, raven-black hair that moved with a life of its own, lifting in the slight morning breeze like the fringles of a silken scarf, was even paler than usual - and fair beyond even Elven measure, which was understandable, considering that the blood of Melian the Maia ran in his veins. 

All tongues praised Arwen Undómiel's exquisite beauty, and with right so; yet it made Erestor wonder at times, how no-else seemed to realize the elegant and noble fairness of her eldest brother, looking at whom it seemed as if Dior Eluchíl would walk the paths of Arda once again. 

No-else but the Man who just entered in that very moment, of course. 

King Aratan was a warrior born, this much was obvious from his movements - if not from his rich attire that mirrored his high position among the children of long-lost Númenórë. A mortal Man amongst the Elves and Istrari, sure of himself in these still unfamiliar surroundings, even though his true home was hundreds of leagues away. The Sword of Elendil that swung sheathed at his waist seemed almost a part of his body, and in his grey-blue eyes there lingered the sad knowledge of the horrors of war that he had learned all too well, having spent most of his life as a soldier. 

A noble Man, indeed, Erestor decided, not for the first time. 

And fair he was as well, though very different from his beloved Lord and spouse. Kingly he looked, clad in black leathers and burgundy velvets, richly embroidered with gold, just as his shoulder-long, dark mane was interwoven with golden tresses. In sunlight he almost seemed blonde, when the golden beams of Anor created a halo of light around his proud head. 

He was less tall than the High King, yet more heavily built, in the way of mortal Men, with strong limbs, a broad chest and great shoulders. Who would have thought that he already bore a womb under all that hard muscle? A womb, that had been cereated by potent herbs and very strong earth magic, and that had grown in him slowly and painfully during the recent seasons. 

In he came with the long, swift strides of the born warrior he was, grabbed the High King like some fair maiden (though he would have no chance against the Peredhil's greater strength) and kissed him roughly on the mouth, before the eyes of every one. 

''Ready?'', he asked. 

Aranel laughed and kissed him back just as soundly. 

''Tis that I should ask from you, jewel of my throne(1)'', he answered. 

The Man rolled his eyes and groaned. 

''Honestly, Elladan, had I known of this silly Elven custom of name-giving, I might have reconsidered wedding you.'' 

''Would you?'', the High King asked, suddenly very serious; and his spouse sighed. 

''Nay, I think not that I could have done that. I need you more than I need air to breathe. Let us do this, love, as long as I can hold on to my courage.'' 

''I worry not about your courage, King Aratan'', the wizardress smiled. ''Few males would even consider doing what you are about to do; Men even less than Elves. Well; the preparations have been made. It is up to you now - to both of you.'' 

Unlike the male wizards, she did not look truly old (though Aiwendil, for example, looked considerably younger than Curunír and Mithrandir had looked when they were still alive). She wore the guise of a somewhat short, plump, middle-aged woman, with her reddish-brown hair turned into a tight knot on the nape of her neck, She was clad in blue, of course, just as her brother with whom she had walked the East of Middle-earth during the Third Age, and blue were her small, deep and wise eyes, too, the orbs framed with dark grey rings and spotted with gold. 

Glorfindel, who had known her back in the Blessed Realm, said once that she did not look very different in Valinor either, not feeling the need to wear an overly beautiful fana(2) in order to draw attention. Her spirit was shining through her modest outer shell like a living fire anyway. 

Now she watched with benevolent concern as Elladan undressed his beloved spouse with great care, bathing him with kisses during the whole process. She let him take his time - for not even she could promise with absolute certainty that the High King would get yet another chance to taste the kisses of his spouse. Boromir might have easily died, either during the fertilization or during the pregnancy or birthing their child... even more so than young Lindir. For what was an advantage in battle, his strong, hard-muscled body, was a hindrance in this, resisting the necessary changes far more than it had been expected. 

Though we should have expected it, the wizardress thought ruefully. He never allowed himself to be weak. This goes against everything he was raised to do. 

Now that both partners had gotten ready, everything had to be made very quickly, since their seed would not remain fertile long after having left their body. It had to be freshly spent, straight into the prepared container, mixed, so that the child would be born from both of them, and delivered into the womb with the help of a long, slender glass pipe - through a very delicate cut. 

When Elladan had first heard that his beloved would have to be cut open both by the fertilization and by the birth, he nearly backed off, throwing rather his whole High Kingdship away. It was Boromir who insisted going through the risky procedure - for he wanted children with his beloved King badly, children that were from their own flesh and blood, not only heirs by adoption. 

Thus he now lay on his back in their wide bed, covered with fresh sheets save his abdomen, and clutched Elladan's slender hand tightly with his big one. It was painfully obvious to any one present that he was frightened, mayhap more so than on any battlefield in his whole life - for dying in battle was soemthing he could understood, something he was prepared for. 

This, on the other hand, was a path he never intended to tread. This was messing with earth magic and Elven sorcery, and when the healers and the wizardress surrounded him, he was near panic already. Only the closeness of his beloved could keep him from leaping to his feet and running away. 

''Hold his shoulders and his legs very tightly'', the wizardress isntructed Elrond and Erestor, while Arwen, with the long apron of a healer bound over her gown, stood ready with the glass pipe. ''I cannot use much of the numbing salve, for the muscles must not go limp, or else the wound would not close soon enough.'' 

Elrond nodded; as the best Elven healer of the western lands, he had several millennia to learn how the body reacted to medicine and tampering. The wizardress now turned to her patient. 

''This shall be rather... painful, I fear. Are you ready, King Aratan?'' 

''Just do it!'', Boromir hissed through clenched teeth, sweat pouring from every pore of his body. He hated to be afraid, yet he could hardly deny that he was mortified. Being cut open by full consciousness was not his idea of a good time. 

With a quick and steady hand, the wizardress made the necessary incision; it was a small cut but rather deep, going through not only the abdominal muscles but through the wall of the newly-grown womb as well. Boromir bit his lower lip to hold back a scream; regardless of the previously applied numbing salve, it still hurt like hell. He thanked the Valar for the strength of deceivingly slender Elven hands that kept him immobile, or else his involuntary jerks would have caused a rather bloody mess, mayhap even damaging vital organs under the knife of his surgeon. 

It hurt even more when the wizardress widened the wound with small mithril clamps enough for Arwen to carefully toss the needle-thin end of the glass pipe through the cut and empty it into the womb. In his agony he could feel Elladan's fingers tighten around his hand, as if he tried to absorb some of his pain. 

The wizardress now murmured the necessary spell for their seed to bond in the womb; one so powerful that it sent Boromir's whole body into convulsions. Three pairs of hands had a hard time to keep him restrained, while Elrond moved Vilya, the greatest of all Elven rings above the incision to seal it. When Boromir relaxed a little, Arwen brought forth Nenya, to unite its power with Vilya, and the wizardress joined them, bringing in the power of Narya, the Ring of Fire, as well. 

With the boundled powers of the Three they were able to seal the wound, leaving behind an angry red scar only, among the many other, faded ones that marred Boromir's body. 

''This will fade with time, too'', the wizardress promised, ''though I shall have to reopen it when the time of birth comes.'' 

''Is it done?'', Elladan asked, cleaning the sweat-covered face of his spouse with a damp cloth. ''Is he safe?'' 

''For the time being, he is, ''the wizardress nodded. ''You must not let him move for at least two hours; and even after that, the most he is allowed to do is to turn in bed.'' 

''I shall see to all his needs'', Elladan promised. 

''How long til.. we know whether... we succeeded?'' Boromir asked, breathing heavily. The last thing he wanted was another attempt, any time soon. 

''Ten days, most likely'', the wizardress answered. ''There should be no further pain for a while - if there is, send for me at once, for that would be a bad sign, indeed.'' 

''I shall not leave his side til we have certainty'', Elladan swore. ''Father offered me to look after the affairs of our kingdom, so that I can remain with my spouse all the time.'' 

''Tis a good thing'', said the wizardress, ''for he shall need your support in the next few days more than he ever had or in his whole life. Now, we must take our leave from you, High King Aranel, for our other patient is waiting anxiously for our arrival.'' 

''What other patient?'', Erestor asked with an icy breath of foreboding surrounding his heart. 

The wizardress gave her a surprised look. 

''Now, if any one, you certainly should know it, my good Elf. After all, 'tis your own child that should be planted into the body of young Lindir.'' 

At that, Erestor became pale like Death itself. No, it could not be... All of a sudden he understood the subtle changes he unconsciously registered in his spouse's behaviour: the slight mood swings, the overwhelming need to cuddle and to be hold, the lost of appetite - Lindir was going through the same process as the King of Arnor. He just bore it better, being and Elf and more adaptable. But that his beloved could have done it beyond his back... 

''You know that I disagreed with him in this'', he said accusingly. ''how could you allow him to do this, against my wishes?'' 

''Because it was what he wished badly, and since it is his body he brought to risk, it also was his decision to make'', the wizardress replied sternly. ''In your over-protectiveness you seem to forget that Lindir is a grown Elf - and that he has certain rights as your lawfully wedded spouse. Among them the right to conceive and bear your child, if that is what he wants... and if 'tis doable.'' 

''And if 'tis not?'', Erestor asked. ''What if something goes wrong and I lose him?'' 

''Tis a risk'', the wizardress agreed, ''but if he is willing to take it, you have no right to deny him the children he so badly wishes. No-one of us would have considered doing this, were we not deep in preparations for your Kings already. But since we were to do such a perilous task anyway, we could not deny Lindir the same help we provided the royal couple. Nor have you the right to withhold your seed from him.'' 

Elrond left Boromir's side and laid a comforting hand upon his foster son's shoulder. 

''Come now, Erestor'', he said, ''deny not this gift from your beloved. You are one of the very few married male couples in this realm; you must understood Lindir's wish for a fruit of your love. Have faith; he is young and strong and very adaptable - I strongly believe that the risk if very small for him. And have you not said yourself that he would look beautiful, swollen with your child?(3)'' 

Erestor gave his foster father a weak smile. 

''I have, indeed. But at that time I thought that to be a safe jest.'' 

''Sometimes there are risks you just have to take'', said Elrond gravely. ''Come now. Let him not wait. He has been so anxious that you would be angry with him that he was uanble to eat or sleep for days.'' 

The healers left the royal bedchambers, and Elladan sat down on the edge of the bed with a relieved sigh. 

''I am glad that it is done, beloved. Now, how do you feel?'' 

''Strange'', Boromir answered. ''I have been feeling strange ever since the whole thing began. As if my body were not mine any more.'' 

''Well, fortunately I have no doubts whatsoever that it is still mine'', Elladan laughed gently, taking one large hand in his slender ones and kissing each figner separately. ''Are you in much pain from that cut?'' 

''It hurts'', Boromir admitted, ''though not badly - tis more a tingle than real pain. And I feel dizzy... my mind is somewhat clouded.'' 

''No wonder; that was a mightily strong spell'', Elladan bent down and kissed his brow. ''Can I do something to make it better?'' 

''You can'', Boromir smiled, despite his confused feelings. ''Come, lie to me and hold me... and sing to me as you wont, so that I can sleep. I truly need to sleep now.'' 

''You are not a demanding patient'', Elladan smiled; then he swiftly unclothed himself and slid under the sheet to his spouse. ''Now, what shall I sing you?'' 

''That song in Old Quenya you taught me after our wedding'', Boromir murmured, halfways asleep already. 

Elladan smiled, remembering the playful days after their wedding, and how fond of this rather peculiar song his beloved had grown - then he raised his upper body on one elbow, and taking Boromir's left in his other hand, he softly began to sing. 

Ilu Ilúvatar en káre eldain a fírimoin   
ar antaróta mannar Valion: númessier.  
Toi aina, mána, meldielto - enga morion:  
talantie. Melko Mardello lende: márie.  
En kárielto eldain Isil, hildin Úr-anar.   
Toi írimar. Ilyain antalto annar lestanen  
Ilúvatáren. Ilu vanya, fanya, eari,  
i-mar, ar ilqa ímen. Írima ye Númenor.  
Nan úye sére indo-ninya símen, ullume;  
ten sí ye tyelma, yéva tyel ar i narqelion,  
íre ilqa yéva nótina, hostainiéva, yallume:  
ananta úva táre fárea, ufárea!  
Man táre antáva nin Ilúvatar, Ilúvatar  
enyáre tar i tyel, íre Anarinya qeluva?  


End notes: 

(1) A playful twist of the name Boromir. Bor = faithful wassal, mír = jewel.  
(2) The physical form of a Vala or a Maia. As you most likely know, the Wizards were Maiar, in Mannish disguise.  
(3) This particular statement of Erestor is made in my third Boromir-story, ''Of Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love'', at the end of Chapter 3.  
(4) The song is an original poem of Tolkien, found on the Ardalambion website, where his poems are also listed. The translation, as it is below, is from the Great Maker, too. 

The Father made the World for Elves and Mortals  
and he gave it into the hands of the Lords. They are in the West.  
They are holy, blessed, and beloved: save the dark one.   
He is fallen. Melko [Melkor] has gone from Earth: it is good.  
For Elves they made the Moon, but for Men the red Sun;   
which are beautiful. To all they gave in measure the gifts   
of Ilúvatar. The World is fair, the sky, the seas,  
the earth, and all that is in them. Lovely is Númenor.  
But my hearth resteth not here for ever,  
for here is ending, and there will be an end and the Fading,  
when all is counted, and all numbered at last,   
but yet it will not be enough, not enough.  
What will the Father, O Father, give me  
in that day beyond the end when my Sun faileth? 


	3. Chapter 3: Hard Times

ANNÚMINAS  
by Soledad 

Disclaimer: see in the Introduction 

Rating: R, for some non-explicit m/m interaction. 

Author's notes:  
Getting pregnant is one thing - enduring the thousand inconveniences of pregnancy is another one. Especially for a proud and impatient man like the King of Arnor. Fortunately, the High King is very gifted in finding ways to soothe him.  
  


3. HARD TIMES 

[The 3rd day of Lothron(1), in the year 3020 of the Third Age] 

The next ten days were spent in quiet anxiety in both the royal and Erestor's family. Neither Boromir nor Lindir were allowed to leave bed, and while Lindir accepted his husband's care even in the most profound bodily news with a warm smile, Boromir felt utterly humiliated. 

Not that he would have been ashamed before Elladan - they were long beyond that - but as a seasoned warrior, who had learnt to care for himself from his early childhood on, he felt uncomfortable and embarrassed to be fed and washed and even relieved with the help of his spouse. As he afterwards readily and ruefully admitted, he had been moody and irritable and hard to bear during these days, even by his own measure. 

But when in one of his rare better moments he ashamedly asked for Elladan's forgiveness, the Elf (for in Boromir's eyes his beloved still was an Elf, regardless of his newly-gained mortality) only laughed, saying that a little grumpiness was naught compared to the paind and indignities Boromir had already endured and still was about to endure. And then kissed him senseless, effectively stopping any further argumentation. This was a trick that always worked with Boromir. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

When the ten days were over, the healers gathered in the royal bedchambers again, ready to check whether the perilous task of fertilization had been successful. This was the easiest part of the whole procedure - it only required a spell, cast by the wizardress, to make the new life in the King's body visible, in the form of softly glowing, golden light that (due to the spell) seemed to nestle beyond the hard muscles of his still taut abdomen. 

Or golden lights, to be more accurate. For there seemed to be two of them, two tiny golden sparks, sitting in the exact middle of their protective womb, like two peas in a pod. 

''Twins seem to run in the family'', commented Elrond softly, feeling something like true appreciation for his ill-tempered son-in-law for the first time in the two years that he had known him. These tiny beings, having just begun to live, were to be his very first grandchildren, after all. 

But Elladan, already sick of fear to lose his beloved, became even more concerned learning the news. 

''Valar, that makes everything twice as bad as it already was'', he murmured. ''Twin births are trying even for women - how much more perilous would they be for a male?'' 

''Not much more than birthing one child, I deem'', the wizardress answered soothingly. ''We would have to cut the babies out of his body anyways. 'Tis not the birthing that worries me, 'tis the carrying. King Aratan shall have to be very, very careful.'' 

''Which means...?'' Boromir asked with a frown, annoyed that she would always speak of him as if he were not present. 

The wizardress raised a patient eyebrow - spending centuries in Rhún made her resilient against aggressive male demeanor - and started to count on her fingers. 

''No bodily efforts whatsoever - including lovemaking'', she shot a warning glance at the High King wo nodded glumly. ''Special food that I shall order by the palace's Elven cooks. Baths in the warm spring for the minerals. Constant observation. Extended resting time. In bed. Red wine only, for supporting the blood-forming, but even that only in small amounts. No ale. No miruvor. Fortunately, since you are a southern Dúnadan, we have not to worry about that blasted pipe-weed, but let no-one smoke around you.'' 

''Only the Halflings do so'', Boromir answered defensively, ''and they have not visited Annúminas for months.'' 

''Mayhap we should invite them, assuming that they can go without smoking'', the wizardress grinned at Elrond. ''There is no better company when someone is confined to bed than a couple of Hobbits. No-one can get bored as long as they are awake.'' 

They all laughed, though Boromir seriously considered inviting his little friends to an extended visit. Their irrepressible good humour would help a lot to endure the dullness of the coming months. But then he decided against it. He did not want Merry and Pippin to see him in his soon-deformed state. Not that they would lose their respect towards him, but... this whole thing was dangerous. He could die any time in the next nine to twelve months... or how long it would take. He wanted his friends to remember him as he was during their quest. 

He shook his head, trying to free it from the gloomy thoughts and forced himself to listen to the wizardress. 

''Well... everything seems to be in order, so far'', she was saying. ''Now, let us go and see our other patient.'' 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The long and complicated pregnancy did not become Boromir - he grew more and more irritated with his situation, the thousand indignities he had to endure: the morning sickness that never ceased for a single day; the pain in his back, due to the excess weight the twins put on his bones; the huge mound he had to push before himself all the time; the swollen ankles; the almost complete lack of appetite... 

Unlike Lindir, who walked through the palace with an exalted smile on his beautiful face and in a constant state of absolute bliss, the King of Arnor looked but a shadow of himself. A moody, needy, ill-tempered shadow. 

The only thing that brought him some relief was the magnificent bath adjoining the royal chambers - a large marble tub, big enough for a dozen people at the same time, fed by a hot spring under the castle. In its shoulder-deep water, rich with minerals, part of the weight was lifted off of him, and he could move easily. Almost as before this whole torture has started. 

He slowly, carefully descended the flat, slippery steps and collapsed next to the last one, so that only his head peeked out of the water. He leaned against the rim of the tub with a stiffled groan. Over eight moons had he already carried his burden, and if the healers were right, he could count on about four more. There were days on which he seriously doubted that he would live to see the end of his misery. 

Soft footsteps alerted him for the presence of another person. Wearing a long and wide blue robe, made of that wonderfully soft and light Lórien cloth, Lindir entered the royal baths. Being married to Erestor he counted as a member of the High King's family and therefore entitled to use all facilities of the royal wing, and he was as fond of the hot bath as Boromir himself. 

''Good day, my Lord King'', he greeted Boromir in his soft voice; ''do you mind if I joined you?'' 

''By all means, be my guest'', Boromir answered with an impatient wave of his hand. He did not mind Lindir's presence, indeed - at least the Elf shared the bewildered looks casual visitors gave the King of Arnor. The Elves of the household adapted quickly, but the mortal dignities had a difficult time to accept the... unusual solution of royal heritage, to say the least. 

Lindir dropped his robe, completely unashamed by his nakedness and by the dramatic changes to his lithe body, and descended into the warm water with the utmost care. Though he only carried one baby, he had already grown much bigger than Boromir, his smooth muscles giving in to the changes more easily than the battle-hardened body of the King of Arnor(2), and even his breasts seemed slightly rounder than before. Wearing his long, moonlight-coloured hair in a knot, wound low on his neck, he would look like a pregnant woman indeed - a particularly beautiful one -, were it not for the unmistakable proof of his gender, lying peacefully alongside one long, slender thigh. 

Pregnancy made him even more beautiful than he had been before, and he bore it exceptionally well, or so it seemed. Unlike Boromir, he had not been sick for a day, and though he did develop the one or the other strage craving, there was no problem with his appetite, either. 

''Acceptance, I think'', he answered with a shrug, whenever Boromir asked him what made him bear his fate so easily. 

And truly, Lindir accepted the restrictions brought by his changed body with that unnerving Elven patience that could make Boromir howl with frustration, focussiong on his unborn child with an intensity that shut out anything - and anyone - else, with the exception of Erestor, of course. But even the longing for his beloved's closeness differed greatly from Boromir's ever-growing, almost uncontrollable need for Elladan. Though Erestor and Lindir cuddled a lot and did not hesittate to exchange chaste kisses and gentle touches in the presence of others, this seemed to satisfy both of them completely. 

Of course, they were both Elves. They had all the time until the end of Arda. 

Boromir turned his head slightly and watched the fair, peaceful face of the Elf for a moment. Lindir sat across him on the other side of the last step, head resting on the rim of the tub, eyes closed. There was an air of complete peace upon him, through which naught would reach him. Boromir asked himself whether the Elf was talking in thoughts to his unborn child. 

''Nay, I am not'', Lindir said, without opening his eyes''; her mind is far too young for that yet. But I can hear your thoughts loud and clear, my Lord King; you should learn to shield them better. You know I am sensitive for thoughts concerning my own person.'' 

''How do you know then that 'tis a girl you are bearing?'', Boromir asked doubtfully. 

''For she shaeres my flesh and blood'', Lindir answered simply, as if it were the most natural thing; mayhap for him it truly was. ''And though I cannot share thoughts with her yet, I can bond with her by sharing my feelings. Do you not bond with your offspring?'' 

''How could I do such thing?'', Boromir replied, somewhat irritated. ''I am but a Man, no Elf.'' 

''Tis no matter of race'', said Lindir with a slight smile. ''You consider the new lives that grow in your body a burden... that is why you cannot feel aught from them.'' 

''They are a burden'', the Man said glumly. ''I have had not one moment without pain for the last ten moons - not to mention the indignities. How do you do that?'' 

''Do what?'', replied Lindir in honest surprise, 

''Endure all this so easily. You are even bigger than I am...'' 

Lindir shrugged, rubbing his swollen belly unconsciously, very much in the manner of a young mother. 

''She is no burden to me'', he answered softly. Boromir frowned. 

''What else then?'' 

''A gift''; seeing Boromir's astonished face, Lindir continued with a gentle smile. ''Understand this, my Lord King, I was not forced to do this - on the contrary, Erestor did anything he could to spare me. But I wanted to do this... to give my beloved a child, who is from our own flesh and blood. I knew the risks, and I know that I still can die when this child shall be cut out of my body. For this very reason I am glad that she is a girl - we shall not have the same fear when she comes to age.'' 

''And this is also the very reason why we shall have no other child, melme.'' They were both startled a little, not having heard the approach of Erestor. The seneschal of Annúminas squatted down at the rim of the tub and kissed the top of Lindir's head. ''You have had enough, dear heart, come out now. The lady wizard warned you not to remain in the hot water too long.'' 

''But it feels so good'', Lindir protested, wading out of the pool obediently nevertheless. ''the warmth eases the cramps in my legs and makes me all sleepy...'' 

''I know, love'', Erestor wrapped him into a large, linen towel and ushered him towards the door; ''that is why you should come to bed now. You need to rest.'' 

Lindir nodded sleepily, nesting in the mebrace of his spouse like a tired child.

''You come to bed with me?'', he asked. Erestor laughed and kissed a wet, bare shoulder.

''Certainly. I shall give you a good leg rub, so that you can sleep undisturbed.'' 

They left, murmuring their good-byes, and Boromir groaned silently. He knew he had been in the hot water too long and needed to leave, too, if he did not want to endanger his offspring (he still could not think of the little creatures inside him as real babies), He had to go back to the uncomfortable reality of unbalanced excess weight, clumsy padding through the palace floors and to the dozens of other hindrances that had made his life one complete misery during the last year. 

Ever since the changes began. 

It was not that he would not want these children, he told himself for what seemed the thousandth time. He always liked children. He would have wanted children even if he had had to wed a woman for having them, a woman who meant naught to him or for whom he would have felt naught but respect. But he never thought of carrying them and giving birth to them himself. That was just not the order of things. 

Still, now that he had the chance to have children with the one whom he loved and who loved him beyond reason, he was willing to do this, no matter what the risks were. Lindir had been wrong. No-one forced him to do this either. He chose to take the risks. 

He just had not realized what it meant to carry a child.  
He did not thought of all the pain, the increasing discomfort and the restrictions.  
Especially the restrictions. 

With a sigh, he climbed out of the tub too, and carefully lowered himself onto a broad bench, made of silky-smooth, grey stone, glaring down on himself with what was half disgust, half despair. He had heard many times that pregnancy, more so in the later, advanced phase, quenched the desire for love-making, and it seemed true enough in the case of Lindir. 

As for himself, of course even that had to be different. Instead of peculiar cravigns (though he did feel the uncontrollable hunger for cucumbers of all things at times, even if he never could keep them in his stomach very long) he developed a need for loving, even more so as his condition made it increasingly difficult to satisfy this longing. The urge was so strong that it permanently hurt. 

''Here, let me help you with that...'', the soft, low voice of Elladan murmured, and his spouse sat down behind him, pressing a smooth, bare chest against his broad back, while two long, finely-muscled arms, strengthened by centuries of archery and swordsmanship, sneaked around his hip to take things into those strong, slender hands that knew every inch of his body so well that they could play it like a well-tuned harp. He closed his eyes in bliss and fell back into Elladan's embrace, nerly weeping in relief while the skilled fingers of his beloved brought him much-needed release. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

When Boromir finally fell in exhausted, uneasy sleep, Elladan returned to his study and poured himself another glass of miruvor. He ceased to count them several moons ago. 

''How is he faring?'', Elrond asked quietly from behind the broad desk where he was tending to the most urgent affairs of the Reunited Kingdom in stead of the High King. Elladan sighed. 

''Tis getting worse, father. His control over his feelings is slipping... he needs me more than he ever had.'' 

''And you need to rest'', Elrond rose gracefully and took the glass from the unresisting fingers of his firstborn. ''Getting drunk will not help.'' 

''I am not drunk, father'', the High King protested weakly. 

''Not yet'', his father agreed; ''but you are drinking too much, Elladan. Even with your higher tolerance agaist liquor 'tis not a good habit to pick up.'' 

''That I know'', Elladan sighed, ''but it soothes my mind. I love him, father, with all my heart, and I am well aware of the risks he so bravely offered to take and what they cost him, but he is hard to bear in these times.'' 

''No doubt'', Elrond said with a slight smile, ''yet 'tis still so that you only have to suffer him - while he is the one who has to suffer. 'This is true for all pregnancies, even the most common ones; and his is anything but a common one.'' 

''Was...'', Elladan hesitated, ashamed to ask, but desperately wishing for someone to commiserate with him; ''was Mother ever this difficult?'' 

''Nay'', laughed Elrond quietly, ''but remember, she was a different person entirely. Pregnancy changes not the inner nature of an Elf... or a Man. Being moody and short-tempered is something your spouse was born with.'' 

Elladan was silent for a moment, his wide, sea-grey eyes darkening with sorrow. Even after two years, his choice of fate and of a bond-mate stood between him and his father. 

''You still do not like him '', he then said softly. Elrond nodded, fort there was no reason to lie to his son. 

''Nay. But I have grown to respect him greatly'', he answered honestly. ''And I can see that he makes you happy... most of the times. That is the only comfort I have in this matter.'' 

''Father, you know that I might have chosen the way of Elros even without him'', Elladan said gently. 

Elrond sighed. ''I know. Yet ere he came into your life, I still had some hope. Your choice saddens me greatly, my son, just as Arwens would have, had she given in to Estel's beggings and bound with him. It matters not which of my children I have to lose for ever - it hurts just the same.'' 

Elladan tried to answer soemthing, but his father raised an elegant hand to stop him. 

''Nay, Elladan, there is naught else we can say in this matter. Nothing that could ease the pain of parting. I have accepted your choice; please do accept the fact that it makes me not happy.'' He paused, then sat back behind the desk with a sigh, adding without looking at his son again. ''Go to him. He needs you more than I do. These are hard times for us all, but the hardest they are for him.'' 

TBC 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

End notes: 

(1) Approximately May. All months were 30 days long according to the Steward's Reckoning.  
(2) I am not making this up, actually. Once I lay in hospital together with pregnant women, before and after they gave birth, and there was a well-trained female teakwon-do champion with a body hard as iron - she suffered more than all the other women together. Now, this might be unusual, but it serves the purpose of my story well, so I simply used it.


	4. Chapter 4: Unexpected Announcement

ANNÚMINAS  
by Soledad 

Disclaimer: see in the Introduction 

Rating: PG, for this chapter (I think). 

Author's notes:  
Eleven months into the pregnancy, things are not getting any easier for the royal family of Annúminas. 

4. UNEXPECTED ANNOUNCEMENT

[The 11th day of Gwaeron(1), in the year 3021 of the Third Age] 

''At times I wonder how I still can get any bigger'', the King of Arnor grumbled, reluctantly accepting the help of his spouse by such a simple thing as getting out of bed. ''I feel like the Mindolluin, and the witch says it would take me at least an other moon to finally have these babies.'' 

''Watch your tongue'', Elladan warned. ''Wizards are quick to anger, and we cannot afford to lose her help. Hold on a little longer, beloved, I beg you!'' 

He bent over to kiss his spouse, which was not easy, considering the size of the latter, but the High King was a limber Elf - well, a limber Man in these days - and could do it, without even touching Boromir's swollen belly. The vice-regent of the Reunited Kingdom had reached a considerable girth in the last five moons, indeed, so that merely moving from one room to an other proved a challenge. The morning sickness and other uncomfortable side effects of pregnancy remainded with him as well, not improving his state of mind either. One more moon seemed eternity - to both of them. 

He rested for a moment in his spouse's embrace, recovering from the effort of getting up (in fact, he had spent very little time out of bed lately), then frowned. 

''Elladan! You have been drinking again!'' 

''Oh, nay, I only...''; the High King tried to avoid a direct answer, but Boromir would have none of it. Forgetting his own misery for a moment, he clumsily turned to glare at his spouse, with a face that used to make battle-hardened soldiers of Gondor shiver with fear. 

''Dare you not to lie to me, Elf!''; the mere fact that he called him 'Elf' showed how angry he was. ''I know I am hard to bear lately, but you are not immortal any more, so try to be reasonable. I cannot use a drunk wretch once the babies are there. You need not to walk upon eggshells around me, I am no fragile little maid. Yell at me when I am being a bitch, but cheat not on me with that blasted liquor!'' 

He expected an equally furious answer - they fought often enough, after all, having chosen to be honest to each other from the beginning -, but Elladan just laughed softly and rubbed his wrist in a soothing manner. 

''Tis good to see you being yourself again.'' 

''My short-tempered, annoying and rude self, you mean?'', Boromir could not help but laugh, too, and pulling one slender hand to his lips kissed Elladan's palm. ''Well, better rude than whiny, I guess.'' 

''I love you'', replied Elladan simply, ''and I am scared to death from what is coming. I could not bear to lose you.'' 

''You fret too much'', Boromir grinned, fully forgetting his misery for the time being, which was the exact result Elladan had tried to reach. ''I am not that easy to kill. Not for cave trolls, not for poisoned Uruk-hai arrows... not even for two little babies with the blood of Maiar and annoying Elven Lords in their veins. All will be well.'' 

The discussion ceased for quite some time at this point, giving room for more pleasurable activities that - though greatly restricted compared to their earlier encounters - served nicely to set their minds at ease. 

After an hour or so they finally emerged from the bath and walked over to their private dining chamber, for Boromir avoided to appear in public when ever he could. Not that he would have been ashamed of the changes his body was going through - every one in Annúminas knew that he was with child by now - but he wanted not his subjects to see how dependent on help he had become, even in the simplest of tasks. 

For though the people of Arnor seemed to like him well enough (he was especially beloved by the Halflings, being the personal friend of the Thain of Buckland and generally a devoted protector of the Shire), but the Dúnedain of the North still were somewhat... reserved towards him, not quite having accepted him in Aragorn's stead yet. In truth, they merely tolerated him for Elladan's sake, and he got more support from the Elves of Imladris and Emyn Lasgalen, or even the Dwarves (not to mention the loyal and enthusiastic Hobbits) than from his own kin. Even with Halbarad, the new Captain of the Rangers openly siding with him, he remained but a stranger for his northern kindred. An outsider. 

Elladan sensed the upwelling sadness in his beloved's heart and gently took his hand. 

''What is wrong, meleth-nin?'' 

''Nothing...'', Boromir shook his head, but Elladan gave him a stern look. 

''Now who is lying, Man of Gondor?'' 

''That'', answered Boromir quietly, ''is something I am no more. I might be called King of Arnor, yet in the eyes of Aragorn's people I am hardly more than your msitress. And once I gave birth to these babies, I shall be imprisoned in the nursery to look after their needs... I want to give you these children, love, but there are times I almost wish we still were at war. At least on the battlefield I could still be who I used to be.'' 

Elladan remained silent for some time; the sadness in the voice of his beloved nearly broke his heart. 

''Have you regretted wedding me?'', he finally asked, almost fearing the answer. Boromir shook his head. 

''Nay, I would do it again. I do love you, silly Elf, and I want to be with you til the end of my days. Tis just hard to live in a foreign country, where my own people reject me.'' 

''No-one rejects you!'', Elladan protested, wishing he could believe his own words. ''They accepted you as their King!'' 

''They did'', Boromir nodded, ''for you. Yet in their eyes I never shall be good enough to replace Aragorn. Not even your own father can see more in me than a nuisance. Even he can barely tolerate me.'' 

''That is his loss, not ours'', Elladan said with a hard edge in his voice. ''Let yourself not be bothered by his disapproval. Your father was not happier when we announced our betrothal, if I remember rightly.'' 

''You do'', Boromir replied with a rueful smile, ''and I loathe to even think of the moment when he learns of my... condition.'' He gave his own deformed body a sour look. ''At the end we only shall have each other, I fear.'' 

''And that is enough for me'', Elladan smiled. But his heart was troubled, for he feared that having each other would, an the end, not be enough for his beloved. 

Boromir was a Man born and raised to rule, a great leader of warriors, who would have had it bad enough to adapt to a life in peacetime under normal circumstances. Being more or less exiled from his home that he had protected all his life surely did not help things. The troubles of pregnancy were just the last straw, and Elladan feared that - if nothing happened - he might break, soon. 

He managed to make Boromir eat a little - not an easy task, and he begged the Lady inwardly that his spouse may keep the frugal breakfast in his stomach for a change, for Boromir had become frighteningly thin during the last year (except of his belly, of course) and needed his strength ere his trial was over - then they walked over to the royal sudy, where Elrond and Erestor were immensed in the affairs of the Reunited Kingdom, while in the farthest corner Lindir was writing something Glorfindel dictated him in a low voice. It had to be something official, for the young minstrel was using red parchment and silver ink(2); besides, in his present condition he was only asked to come to work when his beautiful, elegant script was needed. He preferred old-fashioned writing desks, where the scribe had to stand during work, and now hat he had grown almost impossibly big, it proved somewhat difficult to find a proper writing position. 

Elrond looked up in surprise when the royal couple entered the study. In the recent moons the High Kind usually appeared alone. 

''You are late, Elladan'', he mentioned, distracted by the letter Erestor and he were reading. ''And there was no need to drag your spouse along in his current condition. We can handle things here on our own.'' 

Elladan felt a sudden flash of fury at these words. Sure, Boromir was in no shape to partake in every day's affairs; still, he found it incredibly rude and insensitive from his father to dismiss him thusly. 

''King Aratar is my vice-regent and the legally inthroned King of Arnor, father'', he answered in a tight voice. ''What ever your feelings might be towards him, he is as much involved in the affairs of our Kingdom as I am, regardless of his... condition.'' 

To say that Elrond was shocked by the hostility of his son would have been an understatement. After all, he was doing Elladan a favour, keeping the Kingdom together in his stead, so that the High King could look after his mate. Neither had Boromir shown much interest for state affairs, which was more than understandable under the given circumstances, though knowing Denethor Elrond had no doubt that his son-in-law was more than able to run a kingdom on his own - when he was not pregnant, that is. 

But ere he could have thought of an answer, Boromir silenced Elladan with a weary gesture. 

''Quarrel not on my account, I beg you. I shall go and leave you all to your important work, undisturbed.'' 

''Love, you do not have to go, if...'' 

''Elladan. Leave it.'' 

''As you wish. Let me call someone to escort you back to our chambers.'' 

Boromir rolled his eyes. 

''I am not crippled, Elladan! Just a little clumsy. It comes from being as big as the hills. Still, I am able to walk through this blasted palace without half a dozen over-protective Elves fussing around me. You know it drives me crazy - and I would only insult someone again and embarrass you before your people.'' 

''They are not my people any more'', Elladan corrected mildly, avoiding the hurt look of his father. ''I have Chosen, remember?'' 

''Oh but they are!'', Boromir replied with a mirthless laugh. ''You might be mortal now, love, but that changes not your heart and your mind. You still think and feel like an Elf - and you always will.'' 

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, til Lindir broke it by finishing his work and putting down his quill pen with a contented sigh. 

''I think I might take my leave as well, melme'', he said to Erestor. ''standing is more tiresome than I thought it would be. I need some rest ere the guests from the South arrive, should I be of any use later.'' 

''Lindir!'', Erestor hissed angrily, thinking that it was but a slip of tongue, but looking into those innocent and yet so wise eyes of his spouse made him understand that Lindir knew all too well what he was doing. 

''What guests?'', Boromir asked, full of - justified - suspicion that the others were keeping something from him. 

''Why, the King Artamir(3) of Gondor and his Steward, of course'', Lindir answered with wide-eyed innocence that no-one bought at that particular moment. ''Their arrival is due this evening or so I believe.'' 

Boromir felt all the blood leaving his face. His brother was coming! And more than that - his father, too! The stern, narrow-minded, hard-to-please, quick-to-judge Steward of Gondor, who could hardly bear the shame of his fristborn wedding an other male (and a male Elf to that, adding insult to injury), and who had as yet no hint of the very same son doing something rather... inconsiderable for the former Captain-general of Gondor. 

''By your leave'', he murmured barely audible, to no-one in particular, ''I believe I need to lie down for a while. I might never get up again, truth to be told.'' 

Without being asked to, Glorfindel hurried to his side to escort him back to his chambers. Elrond shot Lindir a baleful look. 

''Now that was a foolish thing to do, young one!'' 

''I believe not so'', answered Lindir mildly. ''I fear you cannot understand his condition - our condition - rightly. His closest family will be arriving this eve - he needs to be prepared, for this shall be no easy encounter for him. Meeting them unexpected, especially his father, could have dire consequences - even miscarrying the babies from the shock. He fights them enough as it is.'' 

''Are you saying he wants not our babies?'', Elladan asked, clearly shaken. Lindir shook his head. 

''Nay, tis not what I said. He does want them - but they also take from him every thing he used to live for. Tis not easy for one who is used to be in control.'' 

''Yet it seems not to bother you'', Elrond remarked. 

''I am a minstrel, a healer and a scribe'', Lindir answered with a shrug. ''All these are things I still am able to do - more or less. But King Aratan used to be a captain and a soldier - a strong Man, ready to protect others, not to be protected. Tis much harder for him than for me.'' He carefully navigated away from his uncooperative writing desk. ''I believe the best is when I go to him now.'' 

''Nay, go not!'', Erestor protested. ''He surely is in a very foul mood, ready to attack any one in his reach.'' 

''Any one but me'', Lindir smiled. ''I look too fragile for him to hurt me - and I am with child, too. He would never raise a hand against me.'' 

''How can you be so sure?'', Erestor asked, not conviced at all. 

''For protecting the weak is his very nature'', Lindir replied simply and left. 

The others looked after him full of doubt. 

''I still keep asking myself just how wise it was of us to invite King Artamir and his father for a visit - at this very time'', Erestor murmured. 

''We could not delay it any longer'', Elrond said with a shrug, ''or else they would have learnt of it from others and accused us of deception - rightfully so. Besides, tis better to face the truth here, with them as our guests than the other way round. Even so, it shall not be easy - for no-one of us.'' 

''Tis not us I am worried about'', sighed Elladan. ''Boromir will have a very hard time. You are not the only one who was greatly displeased by our choice, father... and the Lord Denethor is less considerate about hurt feelings than you are.'' 

''I shall speak to him'', Elrond offered. ''As one father to an other.'' 

''And what, pray you, do you hope of such a conversation?'', Elladan asked. ''Remember, for him you are the one who raised Estel to take his place at some time. Estel's untimely death changes not your intention in his eyes. Not even with his sons being the Kings of Arnor and Gondor.'' 

''Still, I deem I have more hope to soften his feelings than you do'', replied Elrond. ''For he lost his most favoured son to you, and seeing Boromir in his present condition would do naught to ease his mind. For him, this might seem an abomination. The Gondorrim have strange ways to think, or so I am told.'' 

''I know'', Elladan sighed. ''I only hope that at least Faramir will be somewhat more... perceptive. He used to be the pupil of Mithrandir, after all; that should make him more open-minded.'' 

''He seemed to accept you as King Aratan's bondmate well enough'', Erestor remarked. ''Much better than his father, in fact.'' 

''True'', Elladan nodded, not wishing to explain his foster brother the rather... delicate background events(4) that had led to Faramir's easy acceptance, ''But at that time his brother was his own proud, strong self. I fear the changes will disturb him greatly. I would hate to lose our only supporter in the Steward's family.'' 

Erestor shook his head. 

''That I believe not. The sons of the Lord Denethor are as close as you and Elrohir are, even if - being mere Men - they had no centuries to forge a bond of brotherhood. Still, a strong bond between the two of them does exist, and tis not easy to break such bond.'' 

''And yet Elrohir had not spoken to me for moons, after he learnt of my Final Choice'', Elladan remainded him sadly. ''What Boromir has chosen to do for me... for us... for the good of our Kingdom, is no lesser things. It might upset his brother just as well as his father.'' 

''It certainly did upset me when I found out what Lindir had done behind my back'', Erestor agreed drily. 

''Tis useless to agonize about what might happen'', Elrond commented with a small sigh. ''All we can do is to wait for them to arrive. Then we shall see how we can ease their discomfort.'' 

''And ours'', Elladan added glumly. 

To that, not even his father could say anything more. 

TBC 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

End notes: 

(1) Approximately March. Despite any earlier estimates, poor Boromir had to go through a 12-months-pregnancy, in Elf-fashion.  
(2) An idea I have shamelessly stolen from The Tired Scribe for no apparent reason - I simply found the combination of colours pretty.  
(3) Faramir's ruling name. Don't ask why. I have no answer to that question. Just wanted a similar name for him.  
(4) In case you haven't read my canon Boromir-series (your loss :-b), I point out for you Dwimordene's excellent story ''From the Other River Bank'' that was my inspiration to write the whole thing. To Erestor being Elrond's foster son, see: ''Of Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love'', chapter 3, and the whole story ''Innocence''. It's not a canon fact, of course, though according to HoMe 6 and 7 Tolkien originally planned Erestor as a half-Elven character.


	5. Chapter 5: Family Reunion

ANNÚMINAS  
by Soledad 

Disclaimer: see in the Introduction 

Rating: PG, for this chapter (I think). 

Author's notes:  
And now we are facing the inevitable - in the very person of the Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor... not to mention other representatives of royalty and nobility. g 

Warning: not yet beta-ed.

5. FAMILY REUNION 

[The 11th day of Gwaeron(1), in the year 3021 of the Third Age - the same as before.] 

The royal party from the South arrived an hour before sunset. To everyone's surprise, it not only contained Boromir's father and brother, but also Théodred son of Théoden, the King of the Mark and his beautiful Queen, Aud of the deep eyes - not to mention Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan, Farmir's recently-wedded wife. Elladan paled considerably while watching them from one of the balconies. 

''This is not good, not good at all'', he murmured to his equally shocked spouse. ''I only counted on facing your people tonight, not the entire royal family of Rohan as well.'' 

''I worry not about Théodred'', Boromir replied with a shrug. ''He might tease us mercilessly - and he most likely would -, yet after near twenty years of fruitless marriage he surely can understand our wish for children... regardless of the means. And'', he added with a wry grin, ''at least they did not bring Éomer along.'' 

''Still, I would have preferred this... confrontation to happen in the small circle of the closest family'', Elladan sighed. 

''So would I'', Boromir admitted, ''though the presence of an old friend might prove helpful. I do not even know how to approach my father - or my brother.'' 

''Mayhap it would help things if I welcomed them first?'', Lindir offered. ''Seeing a male with child who is not of close kin could lessen the shock when they finally meet you, my Lord King.'' 

''Would you do that?'', Boromir asked eagarly. ''I wish not to put you as a pawn onto the family battle field, but...'' 

''Why, certainly!'', Lindir said with a delighted smile. ''I am very proud of my baby... though they might have some difficulty to recognize me as a male Elf, or so I have been told several times.'' 

''Trust me: you would not deceive my father's eyes for a moment'', Boromir answered softly. ''He can read the hearts of Men like an open book - and so does my brother, for that matter. Telling a male Elf from a maiden shall be no challenge at all. Not for them.'' 

''In that case I shall go down to the courtyard and see for myself just how keen their eyes are'', laughed Lindir merrily and left at once. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Faramir, King of Gondor, dismounted in the middle of the beautifully-paved courtyard, offering a helping hand his wife (not that she would need it, but the King had always been a curteous Man), then took a long, amazed look around. 

Annúminas matched every bit of the old pictures in the history books of Minas Tirith - and yet it was different, subtly showing the results of Elven and Dwarven mansonry and smithcraft. The walls were high and smooth, gleaming white like freshly fallen snow, the pinnacles of the towers glittered like ice in the golden light of approaching sunset, and the sounds of water, jumping high in the air from the beaks of the swan-shaped fountains, melted into an enchanting music like soft rainfall in the spring. 

This was a very Elvish place, indeed, and curiously, most of the servants and sentinels seemed to have come from the Fair Folk. Slender, auburn-haired archers from Emyn Lasgalen - though wearing the black-and-silver of Elendil's guard of old - were standing on the walls like freshly-planted, young trees in a light breeze; tall, elegant, black-haired chamberlains (from Rivendell, most likely) were hurrying after their business throughout the place, wearing the long, richly-embroidered robes of their own fashion, mingled with a few Halflings who wore the colours of the palace as well. Even the occasional Dwarf crossed the courtyard, with the absent-minded look of a busy artisan upon his face. But there were almost no Men in the whole huge castle. Curious.

He intended to make a remark to his father but was distracted by an other Elf, descending carefully the wide, flat steps of the main entrance to the royal palace. An Elf, wearing a sky-blue, gold-embroiderd robe, that - in spite of being garciously wide-cut - could not hide the huge mound of her swollen stomach, an unmistakable sign of advanced pregnancy. 

Her stomach? Faramir blinked several times, taking another good, hard look at the delicate beauty approaching them, and had to correct himself. Despite the fragile frame and the fine features, no to mention the waist-long, pale hair seemingly made of the spun rays of winter sun, this one most definitely was a male Elf. And yet he moved with the same delicate care as any woman in the last stage of pregnance, even resting a slender, long-fingered hand protectively upon his belly. What the...? 

''Welcome to Annúminas, the Sunset Tower, the city of the High King of Gondor and Arnor'', the Elf greeted them in his soft, lyrical voice that could not have been mistaken for the voice of a woman nevertheless. ''I am Lindir of Rhosgobel, aide to the seneschal of the High King... and his bond-mate'', he added with a slight smile, clearly amused by their wide-eyed shock. 

''Wait.. wait a moment'', Théodred raised a big hand in confusion; ''you are... you not a woman, are you?'' 

''Nay'', laughed the Elf, showing no sign of being insulted, ''I am most certainly not. As far as I can remember, and I am about three thousand years old by now, I always have been male.'' 

''But...'', Théodred sputtered, turning a very interesting shade of magenta, ''but you are... I mean you are...'' 

''With child, aye'', the Elf nodded in an easy manner, as if it were the most natural thing on Earth. Yet Faramir knew enough about Elves to know that it was not so.'' 

''I never heard that by Elves it would be the males who gave birth to their children'', he commented qietly. 

Lindir gave him a brilliant smile. 

''And you are quite right, of course, my Lord King'', he answered. ''Tis a rare and perilous process for a male, and though not entirely impossible, it only is done in cases of extreme need, when a bound male couple is determined - or forced - to have offspring of their own flesh and blood. To my knowledge it had not been done since the First Age.(1)'' 

Queen Éowyn eyed him warily. 

''Who... or what could force you to do such thing?'', she asked. 

''I was not forced to do aught'', the Elf replied, somewhat hurt. ''Why cannot people believe that I wanted to do this?'' 

''Mayhap for you look so fragile'', Théodred grinned, getting over his first shock. ''People see you and cannot help feeling protective.'' 

''Mayhap I do look fragile for the eyes of Men'', Lindir said with an elegant shrug, ''though I can ensure you that I am not weaker than many of my own kin. But I am neglecting my duties, it seems. Would you not follow me? High King Aranel and King Aratan are awaiting you.'' 

Climbing up the stairs again seemed quite an effort for him, and the Lady Aud stepped forth to be of aid if necessary, wondering inwardly why the people of the court could not spare the Elf the tiresome task. Surely, there were others who could have welcomed the royal party just as politely. 

Nevertheless, Lindir mastered the task, if with some difficulty and with several short pauses to rest, and soon they stood in the wide, airy parlour of the royal wing. It was paved with hewn stone that was laid in a pattern of garden flowers and it walls were hung with tapestries presenting ancient Elven legends. 

A high, canopied chair with three seats stood upon a dais at the wall opposite the entrance - more a tree-piece throne, in fact. In the middle, clad in heavy velvet robes in burgundy red, with a delicately-woven mithril circlet(2) upon his artfully-braided, raven-black hair, sat Aranel, High King of Arnor and Gondor, his fair Elven face pale and strangely anxious. The seat on his right was left free for Faramir's use, and on his left... 

Nay, this cannot be, Faramir thought, stealing a glance at his father who was instinctively cluthing his heart. Not my brother... not my brave and valiant brother... 

A tall, dark-haired Elf whom he recognized as Elrond, the Lord of Imladris, quietly moved away from beind the throne to take Denethor's arm and escort the old man to a seat on the side. Théodred gaped at the royal couple with his mouth open, and even Queen Éowyn looked a bit shaken. Only Aud of the deep eyes smiled at them with sorrowful understanding(3). 

Finally the High King rose from his seat with a smooth, graceful move and adressed his guests. 

''Welcome to Annúminas, my Ladies... Théodred King... my Lord Steward'', he said; then, turning to Faramir, he added with a somewhat pained smile. ''King Artamir, take your rightful place if you would. A long time we have waited for you to be here, all of us.'' 

''A long time, indeed'', said Faramir, eyeing his brother who was unable to look him in the eyes, ''and time has brought some rather... profound changes, it seems.'' 

''It has'', the High King nodded, ''and I wish we had some better way to warn you at a more proper time of what to expect. But we wished not the means we had to take to ensure the reunion of the two lines of Eärendil's heirs to be discussed in public. Not that we would be ashamed of the way we have chosen - for we are not -, yet we know the nobles of Gondor to be narrow-minded and of strong opinions'', he glanced at Denethor who still was barely able to breathe, ''and wanted not to be confronted with their dismay ere our heirs are safely born.'' 

''Heirs?'', Faramir repeated in utter disbelief. 

The High King nodded solemnly. 

''Aye. King Aratan is carrying two new lives in his body. We know not for sure, for they are not Elven babies - not entirely, that is -, yet the feeling that I am getting from them lets assume that they are of different gender.'' 

''Elves can feel that?'', Éowyn asked, baffled, while more seats were brought for them to sit down. ''By Béma(4), I wish I were an Elf!'' 

Boromir raised an eyebrow as if asking 'You, too?', and the Queen of Gondor gave him a shrug and a grin. Boromir shot a look at his brother, too, who grinned proudly. At least we are in a somewhat similar situation, the King of Arnor thought, even if that seemed a much too simple view of things. 

Another tall, dark-haired Elf - Erestor, the seneschal of Annúminas, Faramir realized, having met him a year earlier on some diplomatic event as Arnor's emissary - came forth, politely offering refreshments to the guests, and at his wink, Halfling chamberlains came with wine and fine white cakes. The Rohirrim acceppted the offerings, but Denethor only sat motionless, with his eyes glazed over, and Faramir felt rather uncomfortable himself. He wished to be left alone with his father and brother. 

As if reading his mind, Erestor called for other servants, instructing them to show the royal guests to their chambers. 

''I believe that King Aratar would need some privacy to discuss family matters with his brother and the Lord Steward'', he added in a flawles diplomatic manner, perfected during hundreds of years of practice in Elrond's house. 

The Rohirrim rose and followed the servants, biding their good-nights as they left; and barely were they out of the parlour when Boromir climbed to his feet with some effort. 

''If I had to sit on this blasted chair one more moment, it would have been the death of me'', he grumbled. ''Elladan, I need some rest. Are you up to handle my father without help? Be careful; you are not dealing with some Orc-chieftain here.'' 

The High King nodded. 

''I can always send for Glorfindel if needed'', he said. ''If any one, the Balrog Slayer would be protection enough.'' 

''Good'', Boromir sighed; then he looked at Faramir. ''Brother, would you mind to be of some help here?'' 

Elladan arched an eyebrow at that, since his spouse, as a rule, barely tolerated help in public, less than asking for it. But he trusted Boromir to know what he was doing. Elrond shot him a meaningful look, and taking the hint, the High King, too, rose from his seat. 

''If you would excuse me, my Lord Steward... I have some matters to attend to. But I leave you in the care of my father; certainly, the two of you have much to discuss. We shall meet again in the dining hall tomorrow. Good night.'' 

With that, he left, taking his entire court with him. By then, Denethor had gotten over his first shock and glared murderously at the elegant, ageless Elf-Lord beside him. 

''What have you done with my heir, Peredhel?'', he snarled, ice-cold eyes full of hatred. ''Was it not enough to make him the whore of your son, did you need to take from him the rest of his dignity as well? Do you know who he used to be? The Captain-general of Gondor, the greatest warrior of the South, a ruler of strong and valiant Men - and you made him the breeding mare of your House!'' 

Elrond hold his glare with grim determination. 

''Watch your tongue, Steward of Gondor!'', he snapped back, his voice no less sharp. ''Do you believe it makes me happy to see my firstborn to be bound to a mere mortal and giving up the grace of his life for a few years of passion? Elladan has already lived more than three thousand years, and would have kept on living til the end of Arda, if not for your son! Soon I shall leave Middle-earth to sail to the West, and my son will not come with me; and I shall never see him again, not in this life, not after that, most likely. So dare you not to accuse me of supporting this madness!'' 

The two fathers glared at each other for a moment in unabashed hostility, forgetting their age, their dignity, their high status, neither of them willing to give in. Finally Elrond considered being the older (if not always the wiser) one and sighed tiredly. 

''Listen, Denethor, tis no use arguing about which one of us would lose more. Our sons love each other and are bound for good, no matter if you and I like it. They chose a perilous way to give heirs to the throne, and I had to help them or else Boromir might have died trying. For they would have tried, with or without my help. I could not leave them to lesser healers.'' 

''Yet he still could die, could he not?'', Denethor asked bitterly, the wrath against these Elves who had taken his son from him and the love for the same son fighting a hard battle in his breast. Elrond took pity on his pain and decided to be honest with him. 

''Aye, he can. We do every thing we can, but it still might happen. There is no way to be sure.'' 

And if he dies, my son will die after him, he added in thought. Of that he had no doubt. 

Denethor nodded curtly; what he just heard, had only confirmed his worst fears. 

''What about that skinny Elf?'', he asked. ''Is he at risk, too?'' 

''He is'', Elrond sighed, ''yet for him the risk is less grave. Elven bodies are more... adaptable, and he only has one child inside him. Still, if things take a turn for the worse, he could die, too.'' 

The grief over which would kill Erestor with certainty... 

Denethor nodded again, his deeply lined face becoming hard and grey with pain. 

''I want to see my son now'', he said simply. 

''Of course'', Elrond stood. ''If you would follow me...'' 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Faramir had helped his brother to lay down in the pleasantly shadowed bedchamber and was now sitting on the edge of the large, square bed, watching Boromir's sweat-covered face with quiet anxiety. 

''Are you feeling well?'', he asked. Boromir gave him a sour look - one he had known all too well from their childhood. 

''I have not felt well for seventeen moons by now... and tis only getting worse with every passing day. Ask your wife in half a year's time.'' 

''That would be different'', Faramir argued. ''She is a woman, after all, and women are meant to have babies. Men are not.'' 

''Let her never hear what you just said'', Boromir warned him. ''She is a shieldmaiden - a warrior like you and I, and she will hate pregnancy just as much as I do. Believe me, tis not pleasant to be reduced to a useless heap of pain. I can hardly do the simplest things without help, and even if it would be easier for her, she would find it humiliating. For it is.'' 

''How long...?'' 

''One more moon, or so the healers say. Then they will cut the babies out of my body, and hopefully I shall be able to live near to normal again.'' 

''Cut out?'', Faramir replied, horrified. Boromir gave him a wry grin. 

''I cannot give birth to them on the normal way, you know... Fret no! Tis the least part of all. A wound is just a wound. It will heal.'' 

Faramir felt hot tears well up in his eyes, and it took him all his considerable willpower not to cry. 

''Oh, brother'', he murmured sadly, ''Why did you have to take such risks? I cannot believe Elladan demanded this from you...'' 

''He did not'', answered Boromir. ''He even offered to have a child himself - for his advanced Elven healing it would have been less perilous. But you know the blasted law... and hei has to be from the father's line. And he is the High King. The Dúnedain of the North would never have accepted an heir fathered by me.'' 

''They would have made him leave you!'', Faramir realized with a shock. Boromir shook his head tiredly. 

''He would never leave me. Never. But he would have given up the throne, and all we had fought and suffered for all our lives long would have been lost. I could not do that to our people, not after the Enemy finally had been defeated.'' 

He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. His breathing became heavy and ragged. 

''We have brought peace to Middle-earth'', he finally continued, ''and I intend to make this peace last. My life is but a small matter compared to the fate of our lands - though I do wish there were an other way. Pray to the Valar, brother, that these children survive birth, for I know not if I would do this again. Tis... just... too much to bear.'' 

Faramir felt his heart contort in pity, seeing the pain of his brother, and lay a comforting hand upon Boromir's swollen belly. Then he froze. Under his fingertips he felt a slight flutter. 

''Brother... I believe they are moving!'' 

''They do'', Boromir answered, without opening his eyes. ''In truth, they are kicking all the time. That is why I have to stay in bed so much... my back is killing me. Even if I might live to see them grow up, I shall never be whom I was, I fear.'' 

''Oh, but you will!'', Faramir said, almost angrily. ''Once you recovered from this ongoing torment, you shall be your old self again.'' 

''Is that what you think?'', Boromir replied bitterly. ''Shall I be able to visit Minas Tirith again, without our people exchanging queer looks behind my back? Shall I ever be welcome in my home of old again? My own father cannot bear to look at me with aught but disgust.'' 

''That is not true! Father loves you, he always had! You always have been his favourite.'' 

''I might have been, yet I am no more'', Boromir whispered, surprised himself how much the thought hurt. ''I am no more his son, not truly. I am but the man-bitch of an Elf, sundered from his own people, no-where at home any more. Once I gave birth to these children, I shall be of no use afterwards.'' 

''Shhhhh, speak not so'', Faramir soothed, rocking him gently in his arms, none of them noticing their father standing in the doorframe, tears streaming down his angular face. ''Give father some time. He will not toss you away for good - and neither shall I. You might be the King of Arnor now, but you are and you always will be his son... and my brother.'' 

For endless moments Denethor son of Ecthelion, iron-willed Steward of Gondor, just watched helplessly as his firstborn sobbed in his brother's arms. For the very first time of his long and hard life he knew not what to do or what to say. He opened his mouth... then closed again, standing there, hesitating for one more moment - then he turned and fled, as noiselessly as he had come. 

The blue-clad wizardress, approaching from the other and of the corridor, shook her head in dismay. 

''Men are the most troublesome creatures on Earth'', she commented in a low voice. ''I shall have an earnest word with that one ere the night grows old. Tis not the time for his brick-headedness.'' 

And Arwen Undómiel nodded in silent agreement. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

End notes: 

(1) Of course, therE is no proof, not even a hint of it having been done in the First Age, either. I just put in this sentence for the Silmfics group members pondering about Gil-galad's true ancestry.g  
(2) Which might or might not have been the same one Elrond wore in the movie. I don't know - nor is it of any significance. Take your pick.  
(3) I made Aud barren in my canon stories, due to the dry fewer she miraculously survied in her childhood.  
(4) The name of the Rohirrim for the Vala Oromë. But you all know that by now, right? 


	6. Chapter 6: The Birth

ANNÚMINAS  
by Soledad 

Disclaimer: see in the Introduction 

Rating: R, for some rather... descriptive surgery. 

Author's notes:  
The time we all feared is finally there. The royal family is about to get their offspring. But the way there is not easy.  
  


CHAPTER 6: THE BIRTH 

[The 25th day of Gwirith(1), in the year 3021 of the Third Age] 

Aud of the deep eyes, Queen of Rohan, awoke from her nap and got ready to visit the newest member of Annúminas' Elven population. The treatment she was getting from the Lord Elrond and that strange wizardress was not always pleasant and made her sleepy and dizzy most of the time, but at least gave her the hope that she would be able to have children, after all. At her age(2) she could not hope for more than one child, actually, but that still was more than she had ever dreamed of, and Théoden was overjoyed, of course, even though he had already named Éomer as his rightful heir(3). But the King of Rohan wanted a child much more than he needed an heir, and his wife shared his opinion. 

Alas, the same sentiment made Théodred so over-protective that it cost Aud some effort to lead a more or less normal life. They decided to remain in Annúminas for some time, til her treatment was completed (giving Éomer the chance to try out his ruling abilities), and Aud soon enlisted the help of the Elven servants to get away from her husband's suffocating protectiveness every time and again. Luckily for her, the Elves proved to be very practical and down-to-earth creatures, despite their ethereal looks, and readily conspired with her every time she needed a little air to breathe. 

Like right now. 

Not that in this particular case she would have needed much help, for they stayed in the guest room of the royal palace, only a corridor or two away from where Erestor and Lindir, considered part of the royal family, lived. So, while that venerably-looking, gold-haired Elf-lord whose long and complicated name she was not able to spell yet, distracted Théodred with some hair-raising tales about slaying ancient monsters, she could easily slip away to see the baby. 

The baby! With customary Elven reliability, sweet little Linnis(4), the first Elven-child that had been born in centuries, arrived at the precise first anniversary of her conception - with quite some help, of course, since her mother, well, was not a mother but another father. The Elves had a peculiar word in their Ancient Tongue(5) for male child-bearers - one that could not be translated, not even into the Elven tongue they spoke now(6). Still, calling Lindir the baby's mother sounded weird for Aud's ears. 

Nevertheless, the sight that greeted her in Erestor and Lindir's bedroom was one of blessed motherhood if she had ever seen one. Lindir sat in a large armchair, nested in the embrace of Erestor and nursed their baby. The little one seemed to be an earnest feeder, resting her tiny hands on Lindir's chest, devoted to her task, not the least disturbed by her parents kissing passionately while she ate. 

Aud cleared her throat politely to make the two distracted Elves notice her arrival. They looked at her and Lindir blushed like a maiden; it was, indeed, hard to recognize him as a male at times, though he had once playfully offered to get naked and show all the proof that was needed... which offer earned him a jealous scowl from Erestor. 

''Lady Aud!'', he greeted her cheerfuly. ''Came to see our little sunshine? Have a seat, we are almost done, then you can hold her.'' 

''You would let me?'', Aud asked, surprised and moved at the same time, aching to have the baby in her arms. Lindir grinned mischievously. 

''If you mind not the blurping... she likes being held. I do believe it runs in the family'', he added with a silver laughter, burrowing himself even deeper into Erestor's arms. 

''Well, tis very enjoyable for both sides'', Erestor commented, nibbling gently on his earlobe. Lindir shivered visibly; Aud was sure that it came not from the cold. 

''Not now, melme. You know to what this would lead and we should not embarrass the Queen of Rohan, should we?'' 

''We of the Mark are not easily embarrassed'', Aud laughed. ''But what about Boromir... I mean King Aratan? Is he not overdue?'' 

''He is'', Erestor sobered at once. ''In fact, the lady wizard and the healers decided to take the babies in the next morrow. The little ones seem to be faring well enough, but King Aratan cannot bear them much longer. They ate up all his strength.'' 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Alas, this was very much the sad truth: the wizardress had come to the hard decision to take the babies, regardless of ''the time of their own choosing'', as she said. 

''Which would be hard to determine anyway, under these circumstances'', she added drily. 

''But you were able to determine Lindir's time!'', accused Éowyn, feeling, as usual, very protective about her brother-in-law(7). 

''True, but Lindir allowed his baby to grow undisturbed, instead of fighting her all the time'', the wizardress sighed. ''His acceptance made things for him so much easier... his body had shown very similar reactions to that of a woman. King Aratan, on the other hand, has been fighting an ongoing battle, ever since we began with the whole thing... not only against his own body but against two stubborn, pig-headed fathers who simply cannot accept his and the High King's choices.'' 

''The Lord Denethor is known as a man of very strong opinions'', Éowyn agreed sourly, remembering what little her husband had told him about his childhood. 

''And you think Elrond is any better?'', the wizardress snorted. ''I regret to say, Arwen, but your father is being just as unreasonable as Denethor is... with even less excuse. He still sees in Aratan naught else but the filthy mortal who has taken his firstborn from him, instead of seeing the fulfillment he had brought to his son's life.'' 

''And Boromir knows that'', Éowyn added angrily. ''He knows he is tolerated at best; though all these haughty Northern Dúnedain should be grateeful to have such a good King. He might have his faults, but he is a very brave man who would do anything for the good of his land, and they just cannot see it!'' 

She chose not to speak of her own less-than-pleasant encounters with Dúnadan haughtiness. But she could understand Boromir's sorrow better than any one else. She, too, was only tolerated for her husband's sake, after all. But at least her father-in-low seemed to like her - as much as he could like any one. 

''Honestly, his troubles as a King are less urgent at this very moment'', the wizardress said. ''I wish we could make his father to go to him and give him some support. He would sorely need the help of his family right now.'' 

''Faramir does what he can!'', Éowyn answered defensively. Indeed, her husband spent more time in his brother's bedroom than in their own, but the Lady Steelsheen(8) did not mind. Boromir needed support more than she did - and should Faramir turned as over-protective as Théodred had, it surely had driven her mad. 

''I know'', the wizardress sighed, ''and his efforts are highly appreciated. But tis his father's support Aratan craves more than anything else, and it would be of great importance for him to have it, if we want him to survive the upcoming day.'' 

''Is it?'' Éowyn rose, and her fair, pale face became cold and hard like ice; had either the wizardress or Arwen seen her as Dernhelm on the battlefield, they would have found that expression eerily familiar. ''Then I shall see to it that he gets what he needs. If I have to drag that brick-headed old man by his beard to his son's bed, then by Béma, I shall do so!'' 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

What ever she had told the Lord Denethor, it remained their secret, but the Steward of Gondor did show up in the next morrow before the royal chambers. 

''One does not argue with the Nazgúl Slayer'', he drily answered to Faramir's astonished question concerning his appearance. ''Not when she has a sword at hand.'' 

But his eyes were full of sorrow and regret, and Faramir knew perfectly well that it had been more than just Éowyn's threats, no matter how earnestly spoken, that finally moved his father to give in. 

''Boromir shall be grateful for your presence'', he said quietly; ''and so am I. Come with me, father.'' 

He led the old man in the inner bedchamber that was well-lit for a change, for the heavy curtains had been pulled aside, so that the healers had no difficulties to see by this delicate task. In the middle of the chamber there stood a low, marble-plated table, and Boromir already lay upon it, covered with fresh white sheets, except his abdomen, his head resting on Elladan's lap - who, just like the healers themselves, was wearing a long, loose apron. The wizardress, Arwen and Elrond were just about to begin. 

Hearing their footsteps approaching, Boromir turned his head towards the door and gave his brother a weak smile... then he froze. 

''Father...? Elladan, too, looked up, hesitating between fear and hope. 

''May I... can I stay with my son?'', Denethor asked. His throat was so tight he could barely speak. Ere someone could answer, though, Boromir stretched out an arm towards him. 

''Father... You have come.'' 

''I should have come earlier'', Denethor took his hand in a tight grip. ''Forgive me, my son.'' 

''You are here now'', Boromir murmured, knowing well how much such a public apology must have cost his proud father, ''when I need you most... We can begin, lady wizard. I am ready.'' 

And he truly was. For the very first time since that dreadful day when his father had confronted him about the true nature of his affections, he was truly, completely in peace. 

The wizardress gave him a long, piercing look - then she smiled. 

''Good. Tis about time. Now, we have some poppy extract here. Do you want to sleep through the process?'' 

''Nay'', said Boromir quietly but firmly. ''I might not wake up - and if anything goes wrong, I wish not to die in my sleep, without a last look at those I love. Cannot you use that numbing salve on me again?'' 

''We can'', Arwen said, ''but that will be of little help. This is no small incision we shall have to make. To take two babies and remove the womb itself needs a really long, nasty cut. There will be much pain.'' 

''No more than by being slashed across one's stomach by the battle-axe of a cave troll'', Boromir answered, ''and I have survived that.'' 

The healers exchanged questioning looks; then Elrond shrugged. 

''Tis your choice. Numbing salve it is.'' 

Arwen applied said salve upon and around the neatly-healed scar of the original incision they were about to re-open rather than make a new cut, for its position was the most promising to reach the babies swiftly and with as little blood loss as possible. This time Elrond had been asked to make the cut, having the steadiest hand and the most experience with the scalpel, while the wizardress had the gory task to go for the babies. 

''He must be held perfectly still'', Arwen warned. ''Faramir, hold his legs tightly. I know he is brave, but the pain will be brutal. At least Lindir had the common sense to let us put him to sleep'', she murmured to herself, but loud enough even for Denethor to hear. 

The old man tightened the grip of his gnarled hands around his son's, watching with morbid fascination the slender hand of Elrond bringing the thin, razor-sharp mithril scalpel in position. Elladan grabed Boromir's shoulders with bruising strength to keep him still and nodded. 

''Now, father. Go on.'' 

Elrond's hand, indeed, was steady and mercifully swift. Ere Boromir could have realized what was happening, the long, diagonal cut across his abdomen had been made, and while Arwen was blotting up the blood, the wizardress reached into the wound. 

''We were right'', she said, carefully feeling around, ''the womb is wide open. And I can feel one of the babies halfways out already. Arwen, bring me a blanket, I shall pull the baby free.'' 

Boromir gritted his teeth; the pain was blinding, more so than he had imagined, but the tight grip of his father's hands held him like an anchor and the soft, reassuring murmurs of Elladan kept him from going mad. Then he felt something else than the hand of the wizardress slip through the wound - something small and slippery -, and shortly thereafter the hoarse cry of a newborn broke the heavy silence. 

Someone touched his face and he opened his tightly-shut eyes to see Arwen, holding the tiny, red-faced baby on her arm. A small, dark-haired baby with round little ears, eyes pressed shut, tiny mouth opened to a toothless cry. 

''She is a perfectly healthy and adorable baby girl'', the Elf-lady smiled. ''Do you have a name?'' 

Boromir only looked at Elladan, not having the strength to speak. They had found an agreement considering possible names for both male and female children moons ago.

''Finduilas'', Elladan answered his sister, ''after his mother.'' 

Denethor stiffened in surprise hearing this. The choice was uenxpected for him, always thinking that Faramir had been the one truly close to his late wife. It seemed he did not know his sons half as well as he had thought, after all. 

''Besides'', Elladan added, ''the name occured in my mother's family as well.(9)'' 

''What about the other baby?'', Faramir asked with some concern. The wizardress frowned. 

''Still no sign of moving out. I say we should remove the womb and cut the baby out of it afterwards. Tis a risk, but a lesser one than butchering around inside of the bearer's body.'' 

Elrond agreed and began the process of severing the womb from the other parts of Boromir's body and closing the inner wounds with the help of Vilya's powers(10) simultaneously. He had to be quick and efficient at the same time, or either the baby would suffocate or Boromir die from the blood loss. 

But the Lord of Imladris was not called the greatest healer in Middle-earth for nothing. Just as Boromir thought he simply could not endure any more torment, finally the hands working inside his body were removed, together with a melon-sized (and rather bloody) bundle, and as he blicked down on himself, he could see the wound closing slowly - more than that, he actually could see beyond his abdomen, something he had not been able to do for at least half a year. 

''The baby...'', he managed to whisper. 

''Be still, just for a few more moments'', the wizardress instructed, moving her own Ring above the closing wound. ''Arwen is freeing the baby right now.'' 

Boromir restrained himself with some effort. Luckily, the less-than-pleasant sight of Arwen cutting the second baby out of the still-protecting womb and patting gently on the small back to start the breathing was out of his line of sight. Finally, the crying of little Finduilas was accompanied by the sweet, soft sounds of unintelligible baby talk that nevertheless signalled that the second baby was content with the world it had come to. 

''Well, well'', the Elf-lady said, clearly pleased, ''this one does look like a little elfling, does he not, father?'' 

Elrond finished closing the wound and shot a glance over his shoulder, noticing that Arwen had been right. The baby boy on her arm had slightly pointed ears, grey eyes and black hair - not dark with golden threads like his sister but raven-black like every single one of his own House.

''Indeed, he does'', he answered in surprise.

''Here'', Arwen stepped to Boromir's side and lowered the baby so he could see the tiny, sprite-like face; ''elfling or Man-child, a fine little boy he is. How will you name him?'' 

''We were planning to call him Húrin(11)'', Elladan answered with a helpless shrug, ''but he does look more like an Elf-child, it seems. I am not so certain any more that such a Mannish name would suit him.'' 

''Regardless what he looks like, he is a Man-child, after all'', said Faramir; ''though tis hard to tell, indeed. What say you, brother? You did all the hard work, you should choose.'' 

Boromir admired the perfect little fairy on Arwen's arm and smiled, feeling better already, though very, very tired. 

''Why not give him... two names?'', he answered with some effort. ''We could... have him recorded... on the lists... as Húrin, in order to... honour... our House, but... in the family, we could... call him... Eldarion(12). For that is... true for him, as well.'' 

''A wise choice'', the wizardress nodded in approval. ''Now, let us move King Aratan into his own bed and clean up here, ere we send in Lindir to introduce him to the endless joys of nursing!'' 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

About two hours later the oversized bed of the royal couple looked like a market-place. Boromir lay in the middle, wrapped in blankets and supported by pillows, resting in Elladan's arms, two similarly wrapped-up, well-fed babies sleeping nestled safely between them. 

At the other end of the bed Erestor sat, cross-legged, stroking Lindir's hair who lay curled up around their sleeping daughter and resting his head upon Erestor's knee, and explaining a wide-eyed Éowyn the fine points of advanced pregnancy. Arwen, Elrond, Denethor and Faramir sat on low chairs near the bed and listened to him, trying very hard not to laugh. 

''He is lying through his teeth, you know'', Boromir said when Lindir started to trail off into hair-raising exaggarations. ''He was not sick for a day, and save the leg cramps, he had no trouble whatsoever. He is just envious of all the attention I got because of being in pain all the time.'' 

''Of course'', Lindir agreed with an amiable smile, stretching like a big, graceful cat. ''But you cannot deny, my Lord King, that I beat you by delivering my baby at the proper time.'' 

''Well, I had two to produce, in case you have forgotten'', Boromir pointed out, feigning being insulted. 

''True'', Lindir nodded earnestly. ''How sneaky of you, achieving double results for the same effort. This stubborn Elf here'', he pointed with his thumb towards Erestor; ''would not let me have another one.'' 

''One child is more than I have ever planned to have'', said Erestor quietly, ''and far greater a risk than you ever should have taken. You have had your wish against mine; now be content with it. As much as I adore our daughter, I want not to endanger your life again. Ever.'' 

''I share the sentiment'' Elladan said, rubbing his face into Boromir's hair. ''And I am glad it is finally over. Being parents might prove tiresome, but at least it is not life-threathning.'' 

''Unless you die from the lack of sleep'', Elrond commented drily. ''If your twins will cry half as much during the night as you and Elrohir did, you shall forget the very meaning of the word sleep.'' 

''I can learn to go on without much sleep'', Boromir shrugged. ''I have slept for years in advance lately, or so it seems. Tis good to feel more like myself again.'' 

''You still are not quite your old self'', Elrond warned. ''Be careful not to over-extend yourself. The inner wounds need at least an other twelve days to heal completely.'' 

''I know'', Boromir sighed, ''and I shall not take any unnecessary risks. Naught that could slow down my healing. I am sick and tired of being confined to bed.'' 

''Yet in bed you should remain, at least for a week'', said Elrond; then, looking down at his tiny grandchildren, he added with a smile. ''At least from now on you will have some company.'' 

''Oh, he will have all the company he needs'', Elladan grinned. ''Now that I shall have to return to the affairs of state, I would crave company more than ever afterwards.''

They all laughed; then Arwen rose from her seat. 

''I believe we should let the four of you rest now. When do you intend to announce the birth of your heirs?'' 

''In the next morrow'', Elladan answered. ''Let this one day belong to us alone.'' 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

End notes: 

(1) Approximately April.  
(2) She is 44 or 45 - not a young woman for one of the Rohirrim, and older than her husband.  
(3) Which is, unless I have misinterpreted something, binding according the law of the Eorlingas.  
(4) ''Musical maiden''. She has a Quenya name since that is Lindir's mother tongue. It's a long story. Called ''Innocence''.g  
(5) Quenya.  
(6) Sindarin. Aud, of course, is not well-versed in Elven lore.  
(7) The reason of which is another long story. Called ''The White Lady of Rohan''. Yes, I am mean and manipulative. What's new?g  
(8) A nickname the Rohirrim gave Éowyn's grandmother, Morwen of Lossornach. Since Éowyn was her very alike (according the Appendices), I simply assumed they called her thusly as well. She deserved a name like that, after all.  
(9) Finduilas, daughter of King Orodreth of Nargothrond, was the first-grade cousin of Elladan's mother, Celebrían. I go with the Sil here, concerning family ties.  
(10) No, in this AU the Elven rings did not lose their powers after the One was destroyed. Also, I am making up this whole process here, so please don't argue with me about biological possibilities. I do know that all this is not possible.  
(11) After the first known Steward of Gondor, probably the nephew of King Aldamir, the founder of Denethor's House.  
(12) Means ''of the Eldar'',a ccording to Robert Foster. Of course, in canon this was the name of the only son of Arwen and Aragorn. The name reamins in the family.g 

And just who has said that I can't write anything with a happy end? Story finished, Epilogue coming right in tail.


	7. Epilogue

ANNÚMINAS  
by Soledad 

Disclaimer: see in the Introduction 

Rating: PG, I think. 

Author's notes:  
And now the epilogue, just as I promised. With a happy end! Go think - the mistress of tortured relaitonships actually has managed this one! Only in an alternate universe, of course, but still...  


EPILOGUE 

[The 10th day of Narbeleth(1), in the year 3021 of the Third Age] 

Six moons later... 

King Aratan of Arnor was sitting in a rocking chair, nursing fairy-faced Eldarion, while his own father was rocking sweet little Finduilas in order to put her to sleep. The little girl grew more alike her late grandmother - whom she was named after - with every passing day, and the once oh so iron-willed, grim and intimidating Steward of Gondor simply could not bring up the strength to go home. What the Dark Lord and his evil minions could not accomplish in a lifetime, this little girl achieved in mere weeks: she defeated him. The mighty Lord Denethor was putty in the tiny hand of his granddaughter. 

Boromir was grateful for his father's presence. The newly-found peace between them put his mind at ease like he had not known it for his entire life. It took Denethor but a short ime to earn the fearful respect of the Rangers of the North, for his name was well-known, even in Eriador, and his open acceptance of his son's choices - even if it came way too late - seemed to finally break the ice between the King of Arnor and the followers of the late Aragorn. Not the least because Denethor bore more than a slight remembrance to the former Chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain. 

There were changes, of course, as it is inevitable in life, even for Elves who do not know death. Elrond had finally departed over Sea less than a moon ago, and with him went Arwen and many of the Elven folk of Rivendell. Yet Elrohir remained, not wanting to leave as long as his brother lived, and his wife, the Lady Aquiel(2), stayed with him, them becoming the new Lord and Lady of Imladris. 

Gone were all the wizards, back to Valinor, where they finally could shed their physical form, born almost for a whole Age, and rest after their long labours in Middle-earth. 

Faramir and Éowyn returned home, for Gondor needed its King and Queen; and it had only been a few days ago that a winged messenger arrived with the joyous news of the birth of their first child, a son named Elboron(3). 

The royal House of the Mark had less luck so far. Queen Aud miscarried her baby after two moons of pregnancy, yet she was determined to try it again, saying that even this short experience made her happy beyond measure. 

Erestor and Lindir remained in Annúminas, choosing to postpone their departure and wait for Elrohir, so the three babies practically grew together. Legolas Greenleaf had visited them during summer for a short while, introducing his newly-wed, beautiful young wife, a Nandorin princess called Indreâbhan(4) and bringing mesages from the Lord Celeborn, who now ruled the southern part of Emyn Lasgalen(5). After the departure of his wife, that hit him hard, he wanted not to dwell in Lórien any more. Not without her. 

For a change, there also was peace along the borders, and Boromir thanked the Valar for it every day. He knew it would not last for ever; for many of the former servants of the Enemy were still around, the worst and strongest ones of them in Harad, but at least they could hope for a few years of ease ere they grew confident enough to cause the Reunited Kingdom trouble again. 

''We must not remain idle in these years'', Denethor warned him and the High King every time someone brought up a question concerning their future. ''We must show strength ere they decide to give us any troube. I have dealt with Harad all my life, and so have my sons; you know that strength is the only language these people understand, Boromir!'' 

''I know, father'', Boromir nodded, giving a cursory glance Halbarad, the freshly-assigned Pricne of Cardolan. ''That is why fortifying Amon Súl and rebuilding Tharbad is of such importance. We need a strong watchtower at the border of our lands, and we need the old haven, so that ships can sail up til the middle of Eriador, if necessary. Thank to the efforts of Elfhelm - and his marriage(6) -, we can count Rhún now to our allies - and a strong ally it is, now, that it finally had been united.'' 

As always, the High King had listened to their discussion in silence. Elladan was a fierce and experienced warrior, but not used to think in terms of whole empires, in spite of being over three thousand years old. So he readily left any problems of strategy to Boromir and his father, focussing his considerable diplomatic skills on negotiations. Which had worked just fine, so far. 

Boromir finished nursing his son and offered the little fairy his father with a smile, lying the now soundly asleep Finduilas into her tiny bed. Things had become gradually better for him after the birth, and he was back to his formal shape and strength once again, beating all the weapons' masters with little to no effort, just as he used to do. 

And what was more, he and Elladan were able to give in to their passion again; after the long moons of self-restrain it felt like the rain season in Harad's deserts. The mere memory of teir first love-making still scorched his hearth with the savage joy of it. 

He was content with his life. It surely had not turned out has he - as any one - would have expected, though. It turned out better. Much, much better. 

''What are you thinking of?'', Deenthor asked catching his thoughtful smile. 

''Of how different my life - all our lives - became than we would have thought'', he admitted. His father considered this for a moment. 

''True. But you are happy, are you?'' Boromir nodded. 

''More than I have ever hoped for, father.'' 

''Good'', Denethor said, ''you deserve it, after all you have been through. Go now and ravish your Elf; tis almost sunset, and he will be waiting for you.'' 

''Father'', Boromir asked hesitantly, ''are you... can you truly be content with my choices?'' 

''Nay'', his father replied bluntly. ''I would wish a normal life for you; one that your brother leads. One that all our forefathers led. But this is your life, and I want you happy. I shall not sneak away from you like Elrond did with his son, no matter what I might think of your choices - even though I may not have too many years left. But what ever I still have, I want to spend with my family.'' 

''I am not the only one who needs your support'', Boromir remainded him earnestly. ''Faramir might feel neglected that you had not returned home to witness the birth of his son.'' 

''And justly so'', Denethor replied; ''I always have been too weak when it came to you. But I am too old to cross the lands in winter. Your Elf intends to bring down the whole court to Minas Tirith for a visit at springtime. I shall then return in your company.'' 

''My Elf does have a name, father'', said Boromir with mild disapproval. 

''I know'', his father replied with a wicked grin, ''but I cannot get all too cozy with him just now. That would be admitting defeat, would it not?'' 

The End 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

End notes: 

(1) Approximately October.  
(2) A female OC of mine, from other, related stories. Has no significant part in this one, though.  
(3) This is how Altariel named their son in her wonderful story ''A Game of Chess''. I'm not sure whether there is a footnote somewhere in the HoME books to support the choice. It might be. Altariel always does her homework.  
(4) Another female OC of mine. Has even less part in this story. The name has no meaning in Sindarin whatsoever - in fact, it's the name of a Scandinavian city. I chose it for the interesting sound, boldly assuming that it was in Nandorin. So shoot me!  
(5) Which actually is a canon fact. Look up in the Appendices!  
(6) In my stories Elfhelm is married to the daughter of the Prince of Rhún. 


End file.
